


You Think You Know Somebody

by StrawberryLane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mistaken Identity, Monster of the Week, mistaken for being a prostitute, small hints towards Sam/Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How much money for a blow job?" the kid repeats and Dean stands up, straightening his back. He's just about to bend back down and give the kid a piece of his mind when he realizes that from where he's standing he has a perfect view of the street. A street full of prostitutes. Oh. Oh. Oh Fuck. The guy thinks he's a hooker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Think You Know Somebody

**Author's Note:**

> For the past week or so, I've found myself listening, somewhat obsessively, to "On my mind" by Ellie Goulding. And, for some reason, this fic was born. All the credit to the songwriters for the title of this story :)

They are in the middle of some city, which Dean hates. He needs to be with his baby on the open roads to feel good. Cities always makes him feel shut down, as if someone put a lid on the pot with the fresh air, refusing him another taste. The only reason they're here in the first place is because Sammy got a lead on the siren they're currently chasing. The bitch has evaded them for weeks now, always quietly leaving town right as Sam and Dean arrive. Most annoying thing ever. But apparently she's here now, and has yet to leave. Either she's tired of running, or for once she, honestly, truly missed the fact that the Winchesters are in town. Dean hopes it's the first, because he's getting kinda tired of the whole thing.

She's using unassuming cheating husbands and wives, whoring herself out for their love. In return they kill the people closest to them and live to regret it. Pretty much as usual on that one. Which is why Sam and Dean are standing right in the middle of hookerville, neon lights everywhere. Dean would be in heaven if he wasn't in agony. Their last hunt had ended with Dean being thrown into a couple of gravestones, making his whole body ache and covering it in bruises. On top of that, he and Sam had a particularly explosive fight right after they arrived at their hotel earlier this afternoon, about the lack of money of all things, something that resulted in Dean now sporting a black eye from where Sam punched him. Happy times. 

And to make matters even worse, Dean had forgotten his jacket back at the hotel, so he's stuck hunting for the siren whilst the air gets colder and colder. Sam, the bastard, just rolled his eyes at Dean's complaints. 

Now, his younger brother wanders away to talk to the scantily clad girls on the other side of the street. Dean stays where he is, propped up against the wall. He's minding his own business (looking for the siren chick and waiting for Sammy, even though he'd rather not deal with him right now) when a big, fancy looking black car with tinted windows rolls to a stop next to him. The backseat window is rolled down, and the dark haired kid who comes into view on the other side is really just that. A kid. Can't be more than eighteen, tops. Sixteen, Dean thinks. The kid looks like a fifteen year old little boy trying to pass for older. 

"Hey, you busy?" The kid shouts, loud enough to be heard over the noise that seems to be everywhere. Car horns, music, loud voices. Everything.

"Who, me?" Dean points to himself and pushes himself off the wall and walks over to the car when the kid nods.

"Can I help you?" Dean bends down, resting his arms on top of the rolled down window to be more comfortable. His back is killing him enough just by standing up, bending down is a bitch, so he's making himself as comfortable as he can possibly get in this position. 

"How much for a blow job?" The kid asks, obviously nervous and what? 

"How much for a what now?" Dean asks. He must have heard the kid wrong or something. Surely he didn't say...

"How much money for a blow job?" the kid repeats and Dean stands up, straightening his back. He's just about to bend back down and give the kid a piece of his mind when he realizes that from where he's standing he has a perfect view of the street. A street full of prostitutes. Oh. Oh. Oh Fuck. The guy thinks he's a hooker. 

"Please," the kid says, "I need your help."

"With your boner? Forget..." He doesn't get any further, because the kid interrupts him.

"No, I...Okay, this is embarrassing, but I made a bet with my friends I could get someone to give me a blow job for my birthday and..."

"You thought buying a hooker was the way to do it?" 

"Well, not at first, but I'm running out of time. And if I lose I have to give them, like, my whole allowance for this month and my mom will kill me and ground me."   
"How did you intend to prove to your friends you actually got a blow job?"

"I was gonna take a picture. Pics or it didn't happen, you know?" the kid laughs nervously.

"How much are you willing to pay?" Dean asks, and he really hasn't thought this through has he? 

"I'll pay whatever you want. Are you gonna help me out?"

"Sure."

"And I can take a picture?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean says. He can always delete it when the kid isn't looking, right? He walks around the car, scanning the street as he goes. No sight of Sammy. Oh well.  
It's awkward inside the car, even with the rolled up window between the driver and them. This guy's family must be richer than Dean first thought. They gave their son his own freaking driver. Who apparently let's his clearly underage boss pick up prostitutes. Nice.

"I'm Nick," the kid says as the car starts moving, shaking Dean's hand. 

"I'm James," Deans answers, because while the kid - Nick - seems to actually have given Dean his real name, Dean isn't stupid enough to do that. Especially not whilst pretending to be a prostitute. This is one of those things that will come back to bite him in the ass later on. He just knows it. So he gives a fake name. 

"Where to?" Nick asks. He's nervous, but tries to play it off. This is clearly the first time Nick has ever done anything remotely wild and illegal, but Dean isn't about to call him out on it. This is a first time thing for Dean too, to actually be the hooker, instead of picking one up himself. He has no clue how to act. Dean thinks back to Shana, the first hooker who'd ever really given him the time of day, back when he was just fifteen. He'd been nervous back then too, much like Nick now, and Shana had calmed him down. 

"Well, sugar, you know somewhere we can be alone?" Dean feels like being sick, because this is so not him, this is Shana, but instead of doing that, he puts on his best smile and tries to look coy.

"My parents are out. I have the house to myself."

Yahtzee. Maybe he can take some stuff with him when he leaves. Dean has to applaud the kid's logic though. Being grounded for giving away a whole month's allowance is a fate worse than death, but bringing someone who's supposedly a hooker into your parents home, that's fine.

"Then let's go there, sweetheart," Nick flashes him a small smile before opening the window that separates them from the driver to tell him to drive home. 

As it turns out, Nick's family isn't just rich, they're richer than rich. The "house" is basically a castle, hands down one of the biggest places Dean has ever stepped foot in. He gives a low whistle to show how impressed he is, and Nick blushes. He's walking in front off Dean, leading the way. The driver dropped them off at the entrance, before driving to the garage. He'd given Dean a look that basically screamed "I'll remember you," so Dean decides it'll be for the best not to hurt the kid if he can avoid it. 

"You want something to drink?" Dean is jerked out of his thoughts, finding himself standing in the biggest kitchen he's ever seen. Nick is standing by the fridge, looking at him.

"What have you got?"

"Well, there's water, tea, coffee, a couple of different juices, like cranberry..."

"What about alcohol?" 

"Dad's got some wine and stuff like that in the office," Nick says, already walking out of the kitchen.

"What about whisky?" 

"That too."

"Lead the way," Dean says, following the kid down the hall. If this is gonna work, they'll need some booze, both of them. Nick for relaxing and hopefully falling asleep before they reach the blow job part of the night, and Dean, well, because he's Dean and whisky is what he drinks. And too be able to go through with what he's planning on doing. No way in hell he's doing that sober. They really need some money, him and Sam. Like, yesterday.

They end up on a sofa in the living room, some random channel playing on the big ass TV in the background. They're both drinking whisky, Nick from a glass because he's classy and Dean straight from the bottle. The kid is obviously still nervous, can't stop fidgeting, so Dean draws from Shana again.

"Which birthday is this? The big eighteen?" he scoots closer to the boy, until they are sitting pressed together, side by side.

"Seventeen, actually."

"Seventeen, really? I would've pegged you for older," Dean says and the kid's face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree.  
"Really?"

"Yeah, totally. How about we talk about that payment, honey?" Dean sets his bottle down onto the table in front off them, and then, because he needs to distract Nick, despite the fact that the kid is already halfway on his way to drunkenessville, Dean straddles him. Nick lets out a surprised huff of air when Dean sits on top of him. 

"How... How much do you want?"

"Usually I charge a 100 dollars for an hour. And since you've already had me for longer than that, how about you pay me 300 dollars?"

"300?!" Nick spits out, clearly not expecting that much money, "It's only a blow job, dude."

"Yeah, sure, it's only a blow job. But we could have done that in the car on the way here. And 300 dollars probably isn't that much too you, is it, rich boy?" Dean bends down, trailing light kisses down the side of the boy's face and throat, "How about I throw in a special offer, just for you, sweetheart?" 

"What's that?" 

"You find some music you like, put it on, and I'll give you a lap dance before I blow you. How about that?" 

"And that's 300 dollars?"

"Yes. And I'll take my payment right now, before the fun begins."

"Why?" Nick looks confused, his hands already on his phone, scrolling through the music library. Dean really needs to get himself a phone like that. 

"Let's just say it's a safety thing. I'm not the only one who..." Dean trails off because what is he thinking, bringing Sammy into this mess? In actuality, he needs the money now, safe inside his pocket, because what if the kid changes his mind and refuses to pay? Things are gonna get ugly then, and that's the last thing he needs. His body is still sore from all the bruises that bitch of a ghost left on him the other day. And he doesn't need another dot on his criminal record. 

Nick nods, like he understands, one hand coming up to trace the skin around Dean's eye, which is already purple from where Sam punched him. The hand disappears and Nick goes through his wallet, which would be so easy to steal, because the kid is drunk. Nick more or less throws bills against Dean's chest, and Dean counts to 300 dollars (if he sneaks another couple of bills into his pocket, then no one needs to know). 

Dean steels himself for the humiliation that is about to come his way when the kid presses play on his phone. It's some kind of rap song that Dean doesn't recognize, because it's not his style. He thanks his lucky stars that Sam isn't here to witness this as he climbs off Nick, and starts slowly unbuttoning his shirt. 

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for Nick, he doesn't get much further than a couple of buttons, hips swaying to the music, before the unmistakable sound of a door opening and female giggling is heard from the hall. 

Dean stops what he's doing, instead looking at Nick, who's sitting on the sofa, a tent in his pants, which Dean cringes at, knowing it's because of him. Nick himself looks like he can't decide between being annoyed and absolutely horrified. He settles for some kind of mix, which looks absolutely hilarious. 

Then, suddenly, as the footsteps become louder and louder and closer and closer, Nick scrambles off the sofa, and hides the liquor they were drinking earlier behind a bookshelf. Then he returns to the sofa, pats on it to show that Dean should sit the fuck down. Dean does, and because he can't resist messing with Nick, he puts his lips against the kid's neck, biting at it. Nick shoves at him to get him to stop and Dean does, just as an older, black haired man and a younger, barley clothed, redheaded woman makes it into the room.

"Nicholas...I wasn't expecting you to be home," the man says. He looks between Nick and Dean, eyes moving back and forth, like he's watching a tennis match. Soon enough the old man is sporting a disapproving frown. It would be much less funny if the girl beside him wasn't so very clearly a prostitute. 

"I had a change of heart," Nick says and sounds so much like the teenage boy that he actually is that it kind of makes Dean sad, "Where's mom, anyway? I thought you two were going out, not you and, you know..." Nick nods awkwardly at the redheaded woman, who just smiles. She clearly doesn't understand what is appropriate in this situation either, because her hands continue to roam up and down the older man's body like the man's son and Dean doesn't even exist.

"Your mom and I decided it was best if we spent the evening separately," Nick's dad says, looking sad.

"You mean you had another fight?" Oh, don't pretend like you didn't know I didn't know you two are fighting again. Are you gonna get another divorce?" Nick asks, and oh god, Dean has found himself in the middle of a soap opera.

"Who are you?" Nick's father ignores his son's questions, and turns to Dean.

"I'm James," Dean says smiling.

"Are you a prostitute?" the guy asks, and Nick makes an embarrassed noise beside Dean.

"Well, you know..." Dean begins, but is interrupted. The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, making all four off them freeze. Slowly, Nick's dad grabs the prostitutes hands, forcing them off his body and walks down the hall. 

All three people in the room are silent, ears straining. The voices coming from the hall are too low to hear much, but Dean manages to catch the sound of a familiar voice and yes, fuck it, that's Sammy, he just knows it. 

Just like before, two pairs of feet make their way down the hall. Nick's dad walks past, obviously intending on taking his guest somewhere else than the already occupied living room, but Sam, who's walking behind him, stops dead in his tracks, staring straight at Dean. Dean literally feels himself shrink into the sofa. He's trying to hide behind a kid half his size, it's ridiculous. 

"Dean, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam says, sounding shocked. He has obviously figured out what's going on quicker than anyone else. As usual.

"Getting some money. We need it," Dean says, looking anywhere and everywhere except for at Sam. When he gets back to the motel he's locking himself in the bathroom and stealing all the hot water. And avoiding Sam's attempts at talking about feelings and shit. This is the last thing he needs.

"And you thought it was a good idea to do that, to do this, without telling me?" Sam is across the room in less than a second. Dean finds himself being hauled up by his shirt, which is still mostly unbuttoned and with Sam getting in his face. Sam shakes him, easy like a rag doll, because Dean is big, but everyone knows Sam is bigger.   
Dean brings his hands up, trying to push Sam away, but the other man doesn't budge.

"You fucking idiot," is muttered, and Sam is so close, Dean can feel his brother's breath on his face. The room is entirely silent, Nick, the prostitute and Nick's dad all staring at them like this is the show of the week.

Sam leans in and Dean's traitorous knees buckle, because...Well, just because, okay?

"Don't look now, but the girl...She's the one we're looking for," 

"What?!" Dean blurts out, unable to stop himself.

"Shut up. Why'd you think I'm even here? I've been trying to call you for ages."

"I just thought..." Dean stops. He hadn't really had time to wonder what, exactly, his younger brother is doing here, in this fancy house. 

"Yeah, you seem to have been doing that a lot lately," Sam says, voice loud enough for the rest of the room to hear, and what the hell does that mean?

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Nick's dad, says, walking across the room, coming to a stop before them. Sam releases Dean, but still keeps a hand on the small off his back. They really need to talk about this shit that's going on between them, whatever it is. But they'll do that later. Much later, now is certainly not the time, Dean thinks.

"It seems to me you two have had a bit of a problem with communication," Nick's dad says, "It seems Nick made a mistake here."

"You could say that," Dean mutters, but the man ignores him.

"How about I'll pay you more than the usual as compensation?" He turns to Sam. 

"Compensation? What are you...." Dean begins, but stops, distracted, when Sam presses his hand against his back.

"What do you say about a grand?" the man asks, already digging for his wallet, like he's the kind of person who can just carry around bags off money every day. 

"Huh? Um, yeah, that'll be good," Sam says, a small shake off his head, warning Dean not to talk. He takes the money from the man and nods.

"Well, this has been pleasant and all, but we should go," Sam starts off towards the door, more or less dragging Dean with him.

"Or you could go and let him stay here and finish what he's been paid to do," the man says and it dawns on Dean that this guy is actually trying to buy a hooker for his son. Jesus Christ.

"What're you gonna do to him?" Nick asks at the same time, still sitting on the sofa.

“Nothing he doesn't deserve. No, he has prior arrangements he needs to get to,” Sam turns to Nick's dad.

It's only then Dean notices that there is no longer any redheaded girl in the room. Heck, there's no girls in the room at all. There's a faint sound of a door opening nearby. He walks down the hall, Sam following, leaving Nick and his dad in their living room. The front door is open, and they both see the prostitute, sorry, the siren, running through the gates, out on the open road. 

"Dude, he thought I was your pimp," Sam mutters as they race to their car, chasing after the siren.

Dean just laughs.


End file.
